Snake oil Salesmen Con Us Again
____________________________________________________________
So who let these hares into the POSH any way?
No, don’t answer me….because it’s just too damned obvious. Like all consummate salesmen they charm talked their way in, as keen as Gollum was to slip his finger into THAT Ring. ….
In just the same way as they led us to believe that their evening was going to be the
best thing since sliced bread. Actually it wasn’t that bad. The deluge on the
Sunday before prompted your worldly committee’s advice to set a trail which
was abundantly clear so that even blind Freddy could follow it. And that they
did …with aplomb. Striking out from the Alan Border Oval we did the
perfunctory loop; a slightly mind numbing exercise as it turned out because
5 minutes into the run we were on well heeled hash territory.
In fact, had I been given $5-00 for every time that I had beaten this Mooching route I would not still be working for a living but in opulent and genteel retirement just as the hares are. Yup, it was saunter down Avenue Road to Mosman Ferry Wharf, up the steps past Rose Crescent, up the and over the hill and down to Sirius Cove Reserve and ….you’ve guessed it, the trail which follows the waterfront around Taronga Zoo.
The walkers bifurcated left, up the steps and onto Rickard Avenue. A short cut across to
Bradley’s Head Road, which of course headed straight for home, and the bucket which was located overlooking Alan Border’s oval… this time the lights were on but no-one practicing their footy skills.
It must be an age thing. Most visiting hashmen from O/S would probably wax lyrical about a winter run like this, but after 46 years of pounding certain routes with singular regularity, we didn’t really need the arrows after all, however technically perfect they were. Most of the boys could have run it blind folded. If they had, they would of course, missed out on the delight of twinkling lights across Sydney Harbour which we should never take for granted. I have to pinch myself to remember how lucky we really are but sadly this evening it was all too predictable, and a point expressed by 3 or 4 in the pack.
Kitty Litter and Benny the Swede were still with us after swimming 15.3 kilometres the day before on the Great Nosh Run. A U-Tube link posted by KL to a select few showed the trail flowing like a creek in spate. Cinders who came first in his age group had wisely taken the night off. However, all three are winners, if nothing else by having the guts to get out there when most sane folk and cowardly athletes dived for cover in the warmth and shelter of our homes. Moishe didn’t! He went out to cheer our boys on. And good on him.
But what about the much vaunted and heralded On-On. Had the slippery snake oil had greased its into the restaurant as well? …Indeed it had, or so it transpired. The hares had supposedly negotiated the restaurant for exclusive use of the hash…well that notion be BUGGERED. The owners could not help themselves, broke the contract and as soon as the lights were on and common folk inquired if a meal was available they were let in.
So when we all piled in, and as the decibels rose to their normal social volume The waitresses were running around like blue arsed flies trying to look after the other impost patrons. The kitchen was under siege, and all the staff were in full fledged panic management and denial. No amount of goading and snake oil charm from the Flying Virgin to the manager at this late stage was going to change anything.
And so we waited, and waited some more and a little bit longer and all the while sinking more beers and wine than the JM’s had bargained for. Grape Ape had it in one. They may know how to cook but they no fuck all about catering. And catering for 55 hashmen was totally over their heads.
And the longer we waited the more wine was consumed….until we almost ran out. S Bends, on his swan song night before leaving his hash brethren for the year, rushed out to his car to fetch emergency supplies. A Hash First this year.
The last time were graced this restaurant way back in the early 1990’s under a different name, something like Rojo as I recall. Anyway that was also a numbered run and perchance there was a sweet, young and entertaining gorgeous young lady whose clothes mysteriously slipped off her sexy and nubile body, just as EX Mrs Music walked in looking for her fun run loving husband. Reminded of this long ago event, Music Man recalled that it had turned out to be the most expensive meal of his life!.
The Moochers were there in force (excepting Polish Joke) expecting only the very best meal, befitting the manner to which they have become indulgently and opulently accustomed. All as comprehensively advertised in these dispatches. Then at last the first of a totally NON-Thai dish turned up…no less than Centre Point special ‘Deep Fried Spring Rolls’, fresh from the deep freezer, followed by something equally small and utterly forgettable. And on the 3rd attempt the 3 diminutive waitresses turned up with
plates of real food. It was too little too late, and if that was the best that this allegedly 5 star
restaurant could come with then their 5 stars must be awfully small and definitely tarnished. In the end we eventually received almost enough food, but it was far from the True Local write up and a long way off the price and value negotiated and certainly not worth the committee sponsorship. We could have done better at the local sandwich bar, methinks.
The best of the evening was in fact The POSH Hash! With all the promos and committee sponsored meal lures, it was great to see a few of the old reprobates at the same tables as our active members.
So how come 2 retired hash cats, rich on the career proceeds of slick salesmanship and beguiling negotiation, could not pull off an ordinary meal for $25-00 per head for their best hash mates? Well one only has to look at their history and backgrounds.
A Flying Virgin ? I suppose you would instantly think of a subordinate or minion of Sir Richard Branson and his flying machines, Right? Actually …No, you would be totally Wrong, and Wronger still.
.
Anyone with his fingerprints on a major meal-stuff-up like last Monday would never be able to operate or organize bums on seats in the travel industry. Surely one has to look at the Dark Occult of Virgins and (no frills) Flying to get nearer the truth. An industry of witches and brooms and places where fun loving hashmen are far from associated with. A dark place where meals are sucked from the necks of their victims and bats fly in the night sky with their prince-lings and witches. So why should we believe them.
Both of them are Conmen at heart.
One has to look at the Dark Occult of Virgins and Night Flying
And what about Simmo? A long time hashman who claims to be More British than the English themselves and therefore superior to your average Aussie. After all he hails from British Colombia, a colony of the British Imperial Empire, where pukka English is always spoken, notwithstanding his Canadian accent which has followed him through like a faithful old dog. His now jettisoned ‘Point of Sales’ business claimed to be a slick salesmanship with principles. Personally this would have to be one
of the classic oxymorons of the dictionary. No wonder we woz conned on Monday night. The hype of not one, but two Snake Oil salesmen. Perhaps from now on we should call them ‘The Dimmer Twins’
All in all though I think that most of the pack enjoyed themselves despite losing $25-00 in what might be considered a night of poker machine gambling conned with arse luck.
The Summer Run in winter on 17th June is being catered by our in house, tried and tested; our very own PILKO and I doubt that we will need 3 out of control Thai waitresses to get our food. Be there boys!
Your Persistent Hash Journo
_________________________________________________________________